


The Idiot Fort

by Ealasaid



Category: Homestuck, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, booze, more booze, tables
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 23:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ealasaid/pseuds/Ealasaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Droog never realized that, being the city's foremost expert in imagination, Pickle Inspector had the alcoholic tolerance of a god.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Idiot Fort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rexila](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rexila/gifts).



Droog did not expect, it being Pickle Inspector, to get totally hammered that night. He didn’t even foresee getting fairly drunk. No. Droog expected that he would go out, have a few drinks, watch his date get clobbered, and have to take him home. If he was lucky, and he always was, there was the potential of sloppy drunken sex, wherein he could let loose a little and not have to worry about Inspector remembering it in the morning.

But it was not to be. Droog had matched Inpsector drink for drink, and they were now the only two people in the restaurant, which had actually closed three hours ago. Since it was Droog and he happened to be one of the owners of it, they hadn’t protested when he hadn’t left. While the employees had long since closed up, he and Inspector had procured a few bottles of some excellent cognac and had gone through them in record time. There had also been three pitchers of water downed-- mostly by Droog. And he was still tanked before the damned detective.

Droog loosened his tie as he contemplated his current drink. Inspector looked woozy, but just enough that the faint trembling had ceased and he sat glassy-eyed across the table. The two had gone through a bottle and a half of cognac together; before that they’d had an excellent Shiraz with the meal and some fabulous dessert liquor with the dessert. Before the mobster and the detective had even arrived at the place, there had been an exchange of gin and tonics. The food had been light, as neither of them were big eaters. And Droog was pretty sure that if he tried to stand right now, he would have a hard time staying upright. It was an utter disgrace.

“Are y-you feeling alright?” Inspector asked, his stutter largely suppressed most likely by the liquid courage.

“Perfectly fine,” Droog lied. He couldn’t possibly reveal the truth. He was at the point where he could willfully deny it to himself and the Inspector if he fixated enough on other things.

“You look a little, ah...”

“I’m fine, Inspector,” Droog interrupted. It was not spoken with any ire, but it remained rude nonetheless. It was Inspector he was speaking with, after all.

Inspector fiddled with his napkin half-heartedly. Were Droog not completely smashed, he would have been interested to note that the amount of alcohol Inspector consumed was directly proportional to the amount of confidence he seemed to gain. “Yes,” he continued, over Droog’s slight, “but I feel as though you are... less, er...”

“Less what?” Droog can hear the irritation in his words. How much had he had to drink? Stupid Inspector, trying to drink him under the table. As if he could come close.

“Well pardon my er, rudeness, but you appear to be less in control than you normally are,” Inspector said apologetically. “Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

Droog glared at his date. “Yes,” he replied with narrowed eyes. They might have been narrowed already, he had been having trouble focusing during the latter half of the conversation. Oh no, had he lost track of his facial expressions? Shit.

“Oh.” Inspector looked a little askance at the vehemence of Droog’s response. “Well in that case, would you like to see something?”

“What would that be, Inspector?” Droog knocked back his drink a little queasily.

“It will take a bit of work,” Inspector said absently, looking around. “Do you think we can move these tables?”

In the end, Inspector moved the tables, mostly by falling against them or rolling them around. Droog sat underneath their table in uneasy fascination as the detective crawled under and tugged the last table into place, shutting them in the dark.

“Now what?”

“Shush,” Inspector said soothingly. “We’re in a fort.”

Droog ended up revising his earlier theory. After sitting in the “fort” for three hours with a giggling Inspector, he decided that the detective was far more inebriated than himself. 


End file.
